


FE3H Drabbles

by passivelyexisting



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, M/M, i'll add more tags as i go along, more characters and ships don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passivelyexisting/pseuds/passivelyexisting
Summary: Just some drabbles with my favorite characters/ships :)
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Marianne von Edmund/Linhardt von Hevring, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	1. Claude/F!Byleth

**Author's Note:**

> so i found a list of writing prompts for january on pinterest and despite me definitely not writing one everyday *and* it no longer being january, i thought i'd have some fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is day one for which the prompt is also appropriately 'day one',, wow

The monastery was how she remembered. Granted, it had fallen into disrepair but Byleth was attuned to the military value the Garreg Mach provided rather than the degree of spirituality the decorations conveyed. It was unlikely she would be moved by its desecration the way some of her students—soliders?—were even if there was not a war going on outside these walls but there was, so Byleth was not concerned with the peeling paint or the dust kicked up by the rubble, or even the disfigured statues of the Four Saints.

However, there was something to be said for maintenance, especially of the bedroom, as Byleth was now discovering. She had been injured in the skirmish with the bandits, and despite her silence on the issue, it quickly worsened to the point that Mercedes, with the help of Sylvain, had to forcibly remove her from the training room and demand she stay on bed rest.

“I am fine, both of you,” Byleth had said, swatting them away. Felix watched from across the room, grip still deathly tight on his sword.

“You heard the Professor,” he called. “Some of us understand the importance of training even when—”

At that exact moment, Byleth doubled over like she had been punched and proceeded to vomit over Sylvain’s riding boots. There was silence for a brief moment and then her body was wracked with another shudder, accompanied by more vomit.

“Well,” Sylvain said, looking away from his boots with a grimace. “There goes the last of my crush on you, Professor!”

Mercedes frowned at him while simultaneously managing to produce a handkerchief and spin a quick healing charm. Byleth was surprised she had not attempted to wipe her mouth for her, but she was certainly not complaining.

“That should help with the nausea, Professor, but you need sleep to let it work. Let’s go back to your room, yes?” Even with the concern in her voice, her smile was still gentle, without a hint of pity. “Sylvain?”

Strong arms appeared on her other side, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist. The two of them helped her walk back to her room. She had never been more thankful for the close proximity of the training room to her chambers. It had been a blessing on more nights than one, but Byleth could not imagine the disgrace of walking past her students—compatriots?—in this weakened state. She was supposed to be a leader, goddamnit. But she had not felt this faint and sickly since the time she had lost consciousness in front of her father, and this time, there was no voice of Sothis to guide her.

They helped her inside her room and she instantly collapsed onto the bed, refusing to lie down completely until they were gone. “If it’s Felix you’re worried about, don’t. Everything with Dimitri has him…” Sylvain paused. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if he kills himself of sheer exhaustion in that room. So, uh, don’t compare yourself to that, yeah?” He ran a hand through his red hair and looked to Mercedes for help.

“The Professor’s not worried about Felix, silly. She’s worried about Claude. That man…” she shook her head. “I should have a word with him.” The frown she wore was as mild as ever, but it clearly meant something different to Sylvain. He put a hand on her back and guided her out of the room, giving a wave to Byleth as they left. She heard his voice, much louder than Mercedes’s soft caress of a tone, leading away through the door: “Honey, this is wartime…no, I don’t think you can talk to the leader of the Alliance like that…”

Byleth would have given more thought to that normally, but the way her brain was straining against her skull like it meant to escape made any prolonged thought difficult. There had been quite a few developments in the relationships between the former students, as Byleth was learning. She supposed it should have been obvious to her sooner, but her mind and body were clearly still scrambled, and like an amnesiac, she was slowly putting all the clues around her together, stumbling toward the picture they would make.

She turned on her side in the bed, curling her knees up. Jeralt had never let her sleep like this when they were working among other mercenaries—never let your enemy see you hurting, of course. Even when they worked with others, Jeralt considered them one misstep from turning on each other. That constant alertness had prepared her well for Garreg Mach and even better for this Garreg Mach, five years in the future and more unknown than ever before. No Jeralt and no Sothis to reintroduce her to the hidden dangers within these walls.

New thoughts were popping in and out now, she could barely focus enough to direct the stream of them. Fuck, Claude—oh, she hoped Sylvain would convince Mercedes to leave him alone. She did not need him doubting her abilities on top of the general skepticism he already held toward her, thanks to her mysterious five-year slumber. He had been nothing but amiable to her but that false, charming smile of his was not the impenetrable armor he thought it was, and despite his continued use of the affectionate moniker “Teach,” Byleth knew she was a near-stranger in his new, older eyes. 

Eventually, she must have fallen asleep because she was pulled from a peaceful darkness by the sound of a rap on the door. Byleth did not reply, but she composed herself into a sitting position, which she was then able to extend into an upright stance. The urge to empty her stomach ran through her again, but this time it was empty, so the nausea grudgingly retreated.

Byleth opened the door and was met with nighttime and a tall, brown-skinned man blocking the stars out. He offered a familiar smile and then asked to come in.

His hair was about the same length, except his braid was gone and it appeared that he was brushing his hair back, keeping it out of his face. It looked more than presentable, almost regal, and certainly a world apart from the boyish curls that had used to stray into his eyes. He had grown the edges of a beard, a narrow length spanning the top of his cheekbones to the bottom of his jaw.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” he said wryly. “I was informed by several ladies that it was irresponsible of me to put you back into action so soon.”

Byleth blinked at him. Her head was still spinning but less than earlier and it was settling down now, sensing the possibility of an important encounter.

He continued, “But we’re about to start attracting the Empire’s attention and that means we need the best fighters at their best. When you sidled up to the monastery like it was just another day of class, I was so—overwhelmed, I suppose—I had to know if it was still you, if you could still fight. If you still had the Sword of the Creator and the power to wield it.” He took a step closer to her. “But I should have done that in a way that didn’t endanger you. So, after all that, what I mean to ask is: how are you?”

She looked up into his face, dark and unreadable in the unlit room, and had the strangest impulse to reach out and touch him. Always taller than her, he now appeared to have reached his full height, several heads above her. It made her feel small, unusually so. Not in the way that put her at a disadvantage in fights, although it took a lot from her opponent to make her feel small, regardless of size difference. But this feeling she enjoyed, wanted to wrap herself in it and close her eyes, take a nap. Lindhardt would applaud her but hadn’t she slept enough already? Enough sleep and enough of this confusion—the awkwardness surrounding Claude needed to go.

“I am fine. Just so you know, I would never have expected an apology. I understand that we are at war—there is no time to be soft. The bandits needed to be cleared out and I needed a good fight; it was the obvious decision.” The words were draining Byleth’s ability to continue standing upright and maintain the conversation but she refused to return to her feeble position on the bed.

“Dearest Byleth,” he said, and his voice had clearly dropped an octave, she could not miss that, “I don’t believe you are fine.”

His tone, and the use of her name—had he ever called her Byleth before?—caught her off guard, a blunt, unbalancing blow against her, felt as clearly as Felix’s dull practice sword. And it only served to further disorient her when he grasped her hands loosely in his and led her to sit on the bed. He wore a faint grin as he said, “You see, I heard that a certain favorite Professor puked all over Sylvain’s shoes.” But the grin faded as he continued. “I also heard that even Mercedes’s healing magic wasn’t powerful enough to fix you up. So, you’re clearly not fine.”

She sighed. “I should be fine but the combination of waking up from—” she stopped, searching for the right word.

“Your half-decade-long nap?” he supplied.

“Sure. That, and my injured leg, are likely exacerbating each other. I should be fine within the week.”

He nodded. “Sounds good. Until then, just take it easy, yeah? Lay off the training, especially with Dimitri’s lover boy.”

“I wouldn’t say that in front of him,” Byleth said automatically. Call it a teacher’s instinct to protect her students, even former ones, from certain death by sword.

“What’s he gonna do—scowl at me?” Claude stretched out beside her, one arm brushing her back in a maybe-accident. “Besides, I got you to protect me, right Teach?”

“As long as this war lasts, I will fight alongside you and the others.” It took her a moment to realize he had been speaking in jest, but it was too late, the mood had turned serious again. 

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then looked up at her. “What about afterwards?”

She thought carefully for a moment. Her thoughts were less scattered now, easier to sift through. She did not know whether to thank the nap or this talk with Claude. Maybe both. Maybe one more than the other. “Ferdinand told me something interesting a few days ago. He said that I reminded him of Pan.”

“From the legend?” he asked, tilting his head. “King Loog’s advisor?”

“One of them, yes. There is hardly anything recorded about him separate from the King. In short, he did not make a legacy for himself. I imagine he felt it unnecessary, as long as he helped Loog succeed.” Byleth caught his green eyes with her own, no longer the blue they had once been. She wondered if that unnerved him. “I feel similarly, Claude. I would like to be there when you look out at the world and know you have changed it. Even more, I would like to help you get there.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

She nodded and he smiled at her, a species of its own, apart from all the other glancing smiles and calculating grins. Apparently, it was easier than it appeared to navigate the complexities of human emotion because this smile was real and she did not have to puzzle over it to know, she just knew. It made a warm feeling bloom in her chest.

“Well, I’d be honored, Teach. I honestly don’t think I could do it without you.” He took her hand from where it rested between them. “Nor do I want to.”

They did not talk more after that. Instead, Claude helped her get settled underneath the covers and then after a moment’s hesitation, removed his overcoat and sank in beside her. She knew when he fell asleep by his breathing and soon afterwards, she allowed herself to join him. Sometimes sleep was necessary, she could concede.

When she woke up, his leg was draped over her own and his arms were holding her gently against his chest. She attempted to extricate herself, hoping to permanently chase the nausea and vertigo away with a healthy bout of training, but as she propped herself up, Claude’s eyes flickered open.

He smiled and Byleth smiled back, to which his eyes widened slightly but he took it in stride. “Where do you think you’re going?

“Training.”

“Oh, Byleth,” he said, and she definitely felt a lot of things rise up in her at that, just those two words—she was impossible, feelings were impossible. His smile turned to amusement as he raised a hand to brush across her cheek. “You’re on bed rest. And it’s only day one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it always pissed me off that the first thing claude does when he meets byleth again is send her out to get destroyed by bandits! like dude i've been in a coma for 5 years i'm weak let me rest


	2. Crime Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> linhardt/marianne and caspar/hilda
> 
> are these common pairings?? idk but i like them

When Linhardt had told Marianne he was researching her Crest, he had made it clear he would not stop until he understood the effect her Crest had on others. He had concluded early on that her Crest was not responsible for the misfortune of others but he saw that as no reason to stop his research into her. In fact, he was working on a counter-theory to the original hypothesis that had linked her Crest to bad luck. It involved her Crest actually bringing good fortune to others, suggested by the positive correlation between the amount of time spent with Marianne and his increased happiness. The only thing Linhardt took more seriously than his research—this research most of all—was his sleep. As a result, he was quickly finding that agreeing to this morning excursion had been a dire mistake, despite the opportunity to add to his data.

“Marianne, must we do this so early?”

He was a few steps behind her, his body drooping as heavily as his eyelids. The sun had been rising when they had met aside the dorms and despite the light it was now casting on them, the air was still uncomfortably brisk. The two of them had just passed the Knight’s Hall, and the stables were within sight—finally.

“I thought you wanted to test your hypothesis,” she answered. Realizing that he had fallen behind once again, she stopped for a moment.

“That is correct. But I did not realize that doing so meant waking up at this hour.” He rubbed his hands together and then took one of Marianne’s hands, pressing his warmth into her icy palm. It was an absent-minded gesture, but Marianne still turned to smile at him.

“We have classes in a few hours and when they’re over, you’ll be too tired to go riding. Caspar told me that if I asked you in the morning…”

“Caspar?” Linhardt said incredulously. “He’s the reason I’m not in bed right now?”

She gave a slight nod. “Are you cross with me?”

They had reached Dorte’s pen but instead of reaching out to greet him, Marianne was looking at Linhardt’s feet, acceptance in her voice.

“Marianne, I’ve never been cross with you.” He could always nap later; the Professor was notoriously unobservant when it came to her lectures. The future leader of the Alliance could be quite a distraction. “Which horse shall I ride?”

She brightened, a subtle difference but one that he would find difficult to miss. “Her name is Aurora.”

Aurora was stabled next to Dorte, and as Marianne murmured to him, Linhardt set about saddling Aurora. Linhardt led her out once she was ready and saw Marianne slip Dorte a carrot as she rubbed his side. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she said, guiding Dorte out of the stable.

Their backs were to the monastery as they made their way through the market, to the outside gates. Before they reached them, however, an unmistakably brash voice called out from behind them. “Guys! Wait up!”

“Oh…” Marianne said in her soft murmur. “I didn’t know he was coming.”

Linhardt turned to see a tall, lean man approaching, his electric blue hair lighting his figure up like a fire among the greys and brown of the marketplace. “Caspar,” he said, and the man _enjoyed_ waking up before the sun rose, of course he had come. But beside him was a woman, much shorter next to Caspar than she had once been, with her candy-floss pink hair tied back into long pigtails.

“Oh, hello Hilda,” Marianne said, raising her hand in a wave. “I’m so happy you came.”

“Anything for my Marianne!” She kissed Caspar on the cheek and then bounced over to Marianne, linking her arm through the other girl’s and starting to talk.

Caspar came over to where Linhardt stood, his face almost as pink as Hilda’s hair. “Heya, Linhardt.”

“Hey indeed.”

Caspar laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Hah! Hay for horses, I get it. I’m surprised you can make jokes this early—”

“I believe you are the one to blame for this early morning venture.”

Caspar laughed again, before noticing Linhardt’s face. He took a step back, held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry! Marianne mentioned she wanted to go out riding, and I figured since I’m always up in the morning, we could all go together—huh?”

Linhardt had begun to walk away, leading Aurora through the open gate and catching up with Marianne and Hilda ahead.

“Hey! Wait up!”

The air was beginning to warm around them as they settled down on a flat stretch of ground beside the sloping hill behind them. It blocked the monastery from view, similarly clouding the responsibilities that came with being a student of the Officer’s Academy. Linhardt imagined there was some truth to the adage “out of sight, out of mind” and perhaps he ought to research into it further…

“Linhardt? Oh, no, you’re _not_ getting out of this that easily.”

He opened his eyes, blinking at the sunlight. Hilda was standing over him, hands on her hips. “The grass—” he yawned. “—is quite soft here.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “But if I have to be awake right now, so do you.”

“That seems unnecessary,” he said but started to get up anyway. He saw Caspar and Marianne up ahead, walking to the river and disappearing into the trees.

She leaned in closer. “I kept Caspar awake all night, thinking we would skip our classes and go riding in the afternoon, after sleeping for many, many luxurious hours. Instead, I’m here, now, before class, which it appears I will also be attending today.” Her voice had risen by the time she finished. “So come on.”

Linhardt blinked, his mind automatically processing the information even if he would rather not think about it. “Interesting…” he said as he stood up. “You speak candidly of your lovemaking but Caspar still blushes when you kiss him in public.”

“Lovemaking?” Hilda repeated incredulously, clearly suppressing laughter. “Is that what you and sweet Marianne call it?”

“Marianne and I engage in no such activities,” Linhardt said. He loved Marianne and told her so when she asked, but their relationship had never become physical past the point of holding hands and the occasional embrace.

Hilda did not seem particularly surprised but still she raised her eyebrows and asked, “Would you like to?”

“Why, it hardly matters what I think.”

“Huh?”

He shrugged. “Marianne has expressed no desire to discuss the matter. I am content to wait for her.”

He heard a faint shout come from ahead. The trees near the river blocked the other two students from view but Linhardt trusted Caspar to take care of Marianne.

“But what if she never brings it up?” Hilda pressed. “What if she’s waiting for you—”

At that moment, Linhardt saw Caspar re-emerge from the trees. Marianne’s arm was slung over his shoulder as she leaned on him for support. By the time Caspar was waving them both over, Linhardt was halfway there.

“Marianne?” he asked, his normally even tone was high-pitched. His heart was racing. “What happened?”

“I—”

“She slipped on a rock, twisted her ankle,” Caspar said. “She saw something floating in the river, right?”

Linhardt registered the silk cloth she was clutching in her other hand but ignored it. He knelt in front of her and gently pressed his hands against her ankle. She made a soft noise as he healed her. It was unclear to him what kept him lingering there after he was done, but linger he did, watching her eyes. He wanted to kiss her hands but instead, he slowly got back to his feet.

Caspar gave him an odd look as he released Marianne.

“Are you alright, dear?” Hilda asked, coming up to stand beside Caspar.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Linhardt.” She gave him a nod. “But I think someone has lost this.” She held out the cloth, which was clearly silk and embroidered with a flashy, intricate pattern. It certainly looked expensive. The white fabric glistened in the sunlight and Hilda exclaimed. “Wow! Was there anyone else down there?”

“Nope.” Caspar said.

“Oh, well I guess we’ll just have to keep it.” Hilda said, her grin overshadowing her disinterested words. “May I?”

Marianne handed it over as the two boys turned back to the horses. Hilda was close behind, apparently, because before Linhardt could untether Aurora, she was beside him, saying, “Why don’t you ride back with Marianne? Caspar and I can take your horse. My feet are awfully sore, and well, it’s no fair you _both_ have horses.”

Linhardt sighed. “I suppose. Do you mind, Marianne?”

“No…” she said, her voice even softer than usual. A result of the previous excitement, perhaps.

Marianne held the reins, of course, and Linhardt sat behind her, pressed against her back with his hands locked around her waist. Her dress was soft and she smelled sweet, like lavender, which Linhardt had heard was used to treat insomnia. It had relaxing properties beneficial to inducing sleep…

“Hey! Do you see that, guys?” Caspar’s voice jerked Linhardt awake. He turned to glare at the man but Caspar was looking at something in the distance. “Look!” he said, pointing. Linhardt followed his gesture and saw an abandoned wagon ahead, visible through a gap in the trees.

“Oh…” Marianne said.

“Come on, we should go check it out! Make sure everything’s okay!” Caspar said, wheeling Aurora away from the path and toward the trees.

“But I’m so tired.” Hilda’s whine drifted back to them on the wind.

“Did you think of something, Marianne?” Linhardt asked as they followed Caspar.

“Well...it looks like a merchant’s cart but I don’t see anybody around. Isn’t that odd? Do you think they’re okay?”

“It does appear unusual. If it’s truly abandoned, that could explain where the handkerchief came from.”

“It’s not like a merchant to leave their wares unguarded…”

At that moment, they entered the clearing. The wagon was indeed a merchant’s cart; it was filled with silk, leather, and perfume. There were several packages wrapped in paper, which was likely jewelry. Many of these merchants came to Garreg Mach to sell their luxury items, knowing the nobility among the students would eagerly turn out their purses for them.

Caspar had just turned Aurora around to face them, and as he opened his mouth, there was a loud thunk beside him. A thick arrow was embedded in the wagon, inches from where Caspar’s hand had been seconds ago.

“Shit!” Caspar yelled. “Hilda—”

Suddenly, a flame appeared in the air behind him as another arrow burst into flame—Marianne’s doing. The charred arrow fell harmlessly to the ground but the heat had startled Aurora and she thrashed, almost knocking Hilda off. Caspar managed to pull his axe from his belt and then swing Aurora around, toward the source of the arrows.

Linhardt scanned the trees around them but saw no movement until another arrow was fired and he saw the archer move to knock another, the camouflage disrupted by their movement. He moved to send a spell their way but Caspar had also apparently noticed and jumped off Aurora, blocking Linhardt’s view.

“Behind you!” Hilda yelled.

Marianne quickly moved Dorte to the side, turning him around in time to see a man’s axe fall through the air. The missed strike put him off balance and allowed Linhardt to hit him with a spell. He turned back in time to see another arrow flying toward them, but this time Marianne was looking away and it nearly buried itself in her thigh. Instead, it glanced harmlessly off her. A new spell Linhardt had learned from Mercedes.

Before he could find the archer and dispatch him, he heard a gurgling cry and turned to the left, seeing a man clutching at the dagger in his throat. Hilda, evidently, had found a weapon.

“Is that all of them?” Marianne asked. Caspar had finished with the other archer, coming back to stand beside Hilda.

“Phew,” Caspar said, wiping his brow. “That was unexpected, right?”

“Surprising but _easy_. I can’t believe that was all of them,” Hilda said.

“Well,” Linhardt said, looking around. Still no sign of movement amongst the trees. “It’s not like an attack on a merchant cart requires more than a few people. Those archers were quite deadly.”

“So there are more of them.” Marianne said quietly. “We were too late this time and we can’t stop it from happening again.”

“Don’t talk like that, Marianne!” Caspar practically shouted. The man needed to learn to regulate his voice in close quarters. “We’ll track them down and capture them all—there won’t be any more ambushes here on my watch!”

“Yeah!” Hilda said, an affectionate look in her eyes as she turned from Caspar to Marianne. “Don’t worry, Marianne. We’ll make sure no one else gets hurt along here.”

“I will also report this to Byleth. She can let the knights know they need to watch this area more carefully.” Linhardt told her. He couldn’t see her expression but he felt her relax against him.

“...Okay.”

“Ready to head back?” he asked.

“Yes _please_.” Hilda said. They turned their horses around to leave the clearing, making their way back to the monastery. “You know, Caspar, my wyvern would never try to buck me like that…”

“That’s because wyverns breathe fire!”

The four of them rode away from the crime scene as the morning finally gave way to the high afternoon heat. Between the unexpected battle and the beating sun, Linhardt was no longer the only one who wanted a nap.

Later that night, Linhardt was asleep at his desk when there was a knock on the door. He barely woke up as he opened it to let Marianne in, nodded to her, and then collapsed onto the bed. She giggled and then climbed in beside him. He was curious if she still smelled like lavender so he moved his head closer to her, resting his face in the crook of her neck.

She giggled again. “What are you doing?”

“You smell sweet,” he said and she blushed. He could feel the heat on her skin.

“Thanks…”

They were silent for a moment before he remembered he had something to ask.

“Marianne?”

“Hmm?”

“Was my hypothesis correct? That it was better to be with others than alone when you are feeling upset?”

She nodded against him. “I think so. I thought it’d just be us and Dorte but Caspar and Hilda were nice, too. If only we hadn’t come across such a terrible thing.”

“Yes, encountering such a scene of crime was not at all pleasant. I would like to repeat the experiment again, under more favorable conditions. Will you let me accompany you once more?”

“Of course.”

“And if you find my presence desirable, I am always happy to tag along with you. In fact, it is my favorite part of the day.” He moved away from her neck, letting her curl on her side the way she liked to sleep. Once she was settled, he moved closer again, letting an arm gently encircle her waist. She gave a soft sigh of contentment. “I should think I’ll never want to finish understanding you, Marianne.”

“Thank you,” she whispered into the darkness.

“I love you,” he answered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Dude!"
> 
> Felix/Dimitri

For one of the first times in his life, Felix could barely keep himself upright. It was not as if he was about to let anyone else know that, though. Of course, his poorly-executed attempt to steady a flailing Ashe did not do him any favors. He tried to support Ashe but he had lost his balance when they collided and in a rush of black, they were both falling back onto the pavement. Ashe was giggling on top of him, past the point of understanding, but Felix was feeling a familiar resentment rising up in his throat like bile, knocked loose by the cement. What a sight he made: Felix Fraldarius, too drunk to stand. How pathetic.

“Felix!” Two different voices cried out, one gleeful and the other equal parts concerned and upset.

Ingrid’s blonde hair glowed in the dark as she hovered over them, helping her boyfriend to his feet. Ashe was all bumbling apologies, latching onto Ingrid like a lifeline and nuzzling into her hair. Ingrid’s arms otherwise occupied, someone else reached a helping hand out to him.

He did not bother to try to identify its owner before he knocked it away. Without looking up, he grumbled, “I got it.”

“So sharp-tongued, this one!” a high voice choked out, caught in a fit of laughter that Felix recognized as Ferdinand. Always so annoying that one.

Once Felix was on his feet again, he was crowded by yet another redhead. “Felix, this is amazing!” Sylvain said enthusiastically. “Don’t you love being drunk?”

“No,” he said with a sniff.

Sylvain clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, you do! You know, some of the others were skeptical but I always knew you’d be a blast at parties. Bust out some of those sword skills━girls would throw themselves at you!”

“There are no girls here, Sylvain.”

He slapped his forehead, grinning. “That’s right! It’s my stag party!”

“Congratulations, once more!” Ferndinand exclaimed for the hundredth time that night. “What a magnificent couple you make!”

“Really?” Ingrid called from ahead. She was walking Ashe to a bench. “No girls, huh?”

Sylvain waved her off. “Next time, you’re getting drunk with _girls_. I’ll be the best wingman ever! After all, what would I have done without your help courting Mercie? All those times you told her I was a good-for-nothing, that she could do better, and look at us now!”

The music and shouts of the people inside the tavern were still going strong but the sky had gone completely dark, indicating just how late it had gotten. It was a clear night, not yet cold, and Felix could see several of the constellations sparkling above. He wondered if _he_ was watching, too. Felix knew that he had not been sleeping as of late. 

And then it became apparent that he had truly lost control of his faculties because his own thoughts angered him so much that he yelled at a waiting Sylvain, “I don’t care about him!”

“Huh?”

“I meant I don’t care about your girls!” Felix snapped. “Neither should you, Sylvain! I won’t be your little plaything to live through vicariously.”

Sylvain’s face fell. “That’s not what I meant. I just━” he faltered.

“Let us continue this party at the palace, yes?” Ferdinand swept between them, gracefully pulling Sylvain away to where Ingrid was waiting.

“More drinks, though?” Sylvain asked hopefully.

“But, of course! A man only gets married once!”

“Nah,” Sylvain said. “But this man does.”

The two of them walked past Ingrid, arms slung around each other as Ferdinand started to belt out an off-key song. Felix scoffed to himself. Who knew war would forge such unlikely friendships?

“Come on,” Ingrid called back to him as she helped Ashe up. “A few more drinks in you and we’ll be back to mooning, puppy-dog Felix.”

It was hard to tell if she was teasing him or being serious but either way he gritted his teeth and followed after her. Before he could reach her, a figure emerged from the alleyway, reeking of something foul.

“You and me, Fraldarius!” Caspar shouted. “Let’s go!” He raised his fists and attempted to bounce on his feet but it only served to unbalance him and he had to thrust a hand up against the stone. “I could kick your━” he ducked his head, loudly retching onto the pavement.

“Goddess’ sake,” Felix snarled. “You’re relentless.”

“Just give me a minute━” he gasped. “I’ll still kick your ass.”

“How about you watch it walk away?” Felix answered without thinking. Fuck, Sylvain was getting to him. Or the alcohol. Both, probably.

“Don’t be gay, dude!” Caspar shouted after him.

Inside the palace they continued the revelry that had begun at the tavern. They had stumbled into the vacant dining hall, having made a quick detour to the wine cellars, only to find the fire behind the main table already blazing. When Felix’s eyes adjusted he saw Dedue was sitting at the table, examining a thin stack of papers. Even though the hall was empty, he still sat to the right of where the King would be normally.

He looked up at their arrival. “His Highness thought you would end up here,” he said, sounding almost amused.

“Where _is_ the King?” Sylvain asked. “Did he not receive his invitation? Or does he not like fun anymore?”

Dedue stiffened but Ingrid put a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder and smiled. “Sylvain’s just upset he couldn’t get Dimitri drunk, too.”

“You got me!” He laughed and broke away from her, coming over to Felix. “I’ll just have to settle for this knuckle-head.”

“His Highness sent me to extend his congratulations━Congratulations.” He nodded sharply and then left the hall.

“So dour,” Ferdinand remarked. “None of that tonight!” He took a gulp of wine from the bottle and passed it to Sylvain who did the same and then held it out to Felix with a devilish smile.

“No.” Felix said.

“Pretty please? For me?”

“Go on, Felix. Even I’m letting loose tonight.” Ingrid said.

“Psh, no way.” Ashe said with a laugh. He was standing on his own now, though he was far from sober. "Still so responsible!”

“Agreed! Dear Ingrid, please don’t consider us your burden tonight!” Ferdinand said.

She smiled but before she could answer, a hurtling mass of electric blue hair materialized in the middle of them.

“Shots!” Caspar cried. “Shots, shots, shots!” He was holding a bottle of whiskey, picked up from where, Felix had no idea.

Sylvain practically tossed the wine aside in his hurry to join Caspar. “Bottoms up,” he said, pushing a goblet toward Felix as he downed his own. Caspar had downed another in the time it took Felix to drain his first, and then his glass was being refilled and Felix lost track of the events that followed.

They were playing a drinking game when Felix took one gulp too many and felt it slide like poison down his throat, upsetting the contents of his stomach. “I’m going to be sick,” he said through watering eyes, climbing to his feet with none of his usual dexterity.

Ingrid and Sylvain both made to stand but Felix waved them off. “It’s fine,” he said and hurried out of the dining hall without a look back. Ferdinand and Caspar’s voices rang out loudly in the corridor, fading into nothing once he reached the tall, double doors that led to the courtyard. The two guards posted ignored him on his way out. Dimitri had likely notified them of the night’s festivities.

The cold air did wonders for him and he felt the nausea gradually retreating, the tide pulling itself back. His head was still unnaturally light and his thoughts were flowing freely, rapidly, yet somehow disconnected from him, like a sheet of gauze that blurred the words behind it. He did not like to sit and despite his body’s current indifference to its position, he refused to let himself collapse. Instead, he leaned against the castle wall for support and looked up at the stars.

The stars were bright and gleaming, all the constellations visible in the clear sky. He could not name them, but he could trace their patterns with his sword in the dust, sometimes against his sheets with a finger when he could not find sleep. During the war, he had laid on his bedroll every night until he finally slipped into unconsciousness. It had taken hours, but it was war and he had needed to rest if he was to fight at his full strength. But there was a smaller part of him, one that refused to be silent, that had been afraid of the man he would find wandering at night among the tents.

Now the war was over and they had won. That man was a King now. And Felix no longer stayed in bed when he could not sleep. He sought the night air, the wind, and the stars above to remind him he was alive, he had survived.

Eventually, he did puke. It took him by surprise, the violent heaving that wracked him as he finally let himself collapse, kneeling on the cobblestone. His eyes were watering again as he wiped his mouth and took several deep breaths.

“Are you alright?”

He expected Ingrid. “Go take care of your boyfriend. I’m fine.”

“Boyfriend?” the voice said, deep and confused. Felix blinked and looked up, the cloaked figure in the dark much too large to be Ingrid. Dimitri’s one eye pierced the dark between them, making him feel much closer than he was and Felix instinctually flinched away. What a pathetic sight he was, on his hands and knees before the boar prince. The King.

Dimitri lowered himself to a crouch but maintained the distance between them. He was wearing a thick cloak but his thin, silk pajamas peeked through underneath and Felix scoffed without thinking.

“Felix, are you alright? Should I get a healer?”

“I don’t need a fucking healer. It’s just alcohol.” His head was spinning worse than before but his stomach was empty now and the nausea had disappeared once again.

“I had hoped Sylvain would take better care of you,” he said with a frown.

“I don’t need to be taken care of!” Felix snapped. “Why are you here?”

“One of the guards informed me you had come here. I wanted to make sure you were well.” He paused and then admitted, “I may have instructed them to notify me if you appeared...out of sorts.”

Felix shook his head indignantly. “I am _fine_. I can handle a few drinks.” To prove his point, he attempted to stand. He made it to his feet but then his head spun and he lurched forward, almost collapsing once again, but Dimitri stepped forward and braced him, broad arms wrapping around his waist and back.

“Careful,” he murmured, his mouth frighteningly close to Felix’s ear. He reddened, a combination of frustration and embarrassment, and tried to shake Dimitri off. The King released his hold but kept a firm hand on Felix’s back. “May I help you to bed?”

“I can do _that_ myself, boar,” he said.

“I would not stay, to be clear,” Dimitri quickly amended. “Felix, do you think you can find your way back to your chambers in your current state?”

“Is that a judgement?” Felix snapped, twisting away from the insistent hand at his back. “You can’t judge me, boar. You have no right.”

Dimitri shook his head. “It is concern you detect in my tone, not judgement. I only wish to help.”

“Fine,” he said gruffly. “Just to the hallway.”

The two of them made their way back inside, Dimitri ghosting one hand over his back, ready to hold him up if he should start to stumble. The thought spiked another surge of anger and he carelessly swatted Dimitri’s arm away. “I can walk,” he snapped. When he turned back his foot landed at a wrong angle and he slipped. Instantly, he felt broad hands grasping him, keeping him from sinking into the ground.

He allowed Dimitri to return him to his full balance, both feet firmly on the ground, and then he was silent as he was guided back down hallways he had walked dozens of times before. Right now, his vision was blurring at the edges and the turns and stretches started to blend into one, unchanging corridor.

Then suddenly they were outside Felix’s door and of course, he knew where they were. This, at least, was familiar. But then Dimitri took his hands away and Felix felt it like swallowing a stone, a heavy weight settling in his stomach. Now his one eye was watching Felix with sadness━of course, that darkness had been there since their Academy days━and the undertones of something brighter, something not often there; a soft tenderness that was currently beholding Felix. There was a pang in his chest as he watched Dimitri silently wait for him to decide his fate, whether he will stay or if he will leave.

“Would you like some tea?” Felix said, the words sliding out his mouth as soon as he thought them. “Chamomile helps you sleep.” Dimitri’s silence continued. “Right?”

A half-smile tugged his mouth up as he nodded. “Indeed. I am surprised you remembered.”

“Yeah.” He took Dimitri’s acceptance in stride, despite feeling like he had been caught off guard. He’s the one who offered for Goddess’ sake. “I pay attention.”

Dimitri hovered near the door as Felix dug out a kettle and tea cups. “Should I call for someone…?” he asked uncertainly.

“I have it,” Felix snapped. He wrapped his hands around the metal and a second later, it was hissing with the heat. “The Professor,” he said by way of explanation, thrusting a cup toward Dimitri.

“I see.” 

Dimitri stayed by the door until Felix sighed. “You can sit, if you’d like.” he said, patting the bed sheet beside him.

“I do not want to overstay my welcome, Felix.”

“Fuck off,” he muttered. “Just sit.”

The two of them sat, side by side, for only a few moments before Dimitri blurted: “How drunk are you?”

He scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

“I would like to ask you something, but I don’t believe I’d like you to remember,” Dimitri said, eyes carefully trained on Felix. He felt like the King was playing a game, one that only he understood. Felix didn’t like this; he felt out of his element and weakened by the alcohol and Dimtri’s unexpected presence. There were a few things he could think of to say, too, if they were on the topic of confessing.

“Just say it.

“May I…” Dimitri set his cup down, turned to face Felix entirely. Shit. “May I kiss you?”

Felix’s own forgotten cup trembled between his fingers. He looked at the other man━his King━impassively. “What?” he said, his tone cool.

“You heard me, Felix.” The Dimitri from before, the young Prince, would have stumbled over apology after apology for Felix. This Dimitri, the hardened King, would not apologize. He would not deflect or revise his words, he would give Felix the opportunity and let him make the decision. This was not like last time, when Dimitri had drunkenly pressed his lips against Felix’s after a night of revelry as students. When he had whispered “I love you” into his shoulder and pulled away, as if shocked, when Felix had stiffened. When he had jumped to his feet and fled, leaving Felix alone every night after.

He wondered if Dimitri remembered. War could erase many things. He thought this had been erased, swept clear from both of them, but Dimitri apparently had more to say.

Felix did not give his King an answer. He leaned forward and let himself touch his best friend, one hand sweeping up his back, the other pressed into his waist. “Kiss me,” he said and it was a command.

Dimitri obeyed.

The two of them tangled together, progressing from a messy embrace on the side of the bed to Felix sitting astride Dimitri’s chest, fingers tugging against Dimitri’s hair and feeling fingers tangled in his, as they kissed softly, slowly and then harder, deeper.

Felix could not keep his eyes open for long, and when they paused, he rested his forehead against Dimitri's and he let his eyes close, wrapped in powerful arms and comforted by the steady beat of Dimitri’s heart. Before the dreamless sleep of alcohol overtook him, he remembered Dimitri’s words and gave him some of his own: “I want to remember. Don’t you dare let me forget.”

“But, dear, you’re already falling asleep.” Dimitri’s voice was soft now, the frantic passion from before having faded. “Perhaps I should have waited.”

“I will kill you if you’re not here when I wake up,” Felix said.

“I promise I’ll never leave if you tell me to stay. Nor will I stay if you tell me to leave. I am yours to command, Felix.”

“No, that’s the boar. That’s━that’s a beast. I want Dimitri...Dimitri?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dimitri murmured against him and this time, Felix knew the words would not disappear in the morning. They lingered in the air between them but Felix did not bother trying to hold onto them. He knew there would be more.


End file.
